


the things i would do

by 75hearts



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Extremely Manipulative Diplomacy Sex, M/M, Oaths, Oral Foreplay, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, background elwe/finwe, if you are not interested in 'mae has sex w thingol for the silmaril', man idk how to tag this?, you will not be interested in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 10:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17979869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/75hearts/pseuds/75hearts
Summary: Maedhros wants to make it clear to Thingol that the Oath can be used to his advantage, instead of being a tool of his destruction. Things progress from there.





	the things i would do

Maedhros walked into the throne room at Menegroth with a steady gait and a deferential expression, towering above all save the King himself. He stopped a respectful distance from the throne and nodded in acknowledgement. His robes were plain and gray, closer to those of a Sindarin townsperson than a Noldorin prince, but his cloak was unmistakable: bright red and clasped with the star of Fëanor. “I seek an audience with the King. I have sent messengers but it is hard to tell in these difficult times if they have been received.”

“And who are you?”

“You know who I am, Your Grace. I am Maedhros Fëanorion, Commander of the troops against Morgoth in Amon Ereb.” Not Himring, not anymore. “You gave me leave to stay in your lands, and I have defended them for many years. And you are Elu Thingol, King of Doriath.”

“You are Maedhros Fëanorion, Kinslayer, brother of those who kidnapped my daughter. It would do you well to remember that when you are talking to me.”

“I have not forgotten.”

“No?”

“No. Not for a moment.”

“And yet you come to me with demands.”

Maedhros bowed low, at that. “I come with an offer, Your Grace.”

“Oh? And what is that? You have been defeated, your lands and troops destroyed. What could you have to offer me?”

“Perhaps you are right and I have nothing you should want. I wished to offer anyway. As for what I offer--anything you ask. Anything you ask, I shall do.”

“Then kneel.”

Maedhros sank to one knee with perfect grace, head down, laying his sword at his feet. He looked up at Thingol, eyes wide and earnest through an out-of-place lock of red hair; his lips parted slightly. “As you command, Your Grace.” His eyelids fluttered but his gaze did not weaken.

“Why are you here?”

“You know why I am here. I am sworn to get the silmarils, no matter what I must do to get them. You have a silmaril, and so I am here to--make it clear to you--the power this grants you. We do not have to be enemies.”

At that, Thingol’s mouth twisted. “Don’t we? Does your oath not oblige it?”

“My oath obliges me to do whatever I must to obtain a silmaril. So long as you allow me a path to the silmaril, I shall follow it. Indeed, I _must_ follow it. Any orders you give I must obey, anything you ask of me I shall do--so long as you have the silmaril and are willing to dangle it in front of me, I will follow you. If you reject my offer, my oath can make us into enemies. But if you do not, then I shall be yours in everything. You need not fear disloyalty so long as I am bound, and if you ask it of me I am willing to swear again, that I shall hold nothing you ask of me against you so long as I might get the silmaril.”

“You may rise.”

Maedhros obeyed instantly, lifting his head and sheathing his sword once again as he did so. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Do not thank me yet. I have not decided.” He tilts his head, ever so slightly. “You did not answer my question, not really. Tell me: why should I say yes? What does it benefit me, to have a lachend by my side, with a defeated army and a destroyed kingdom and a hidden King?”

“I have heard that you were friends, long ago, beneath the stars of Cuivienen, with Finwë my father’s father. Do you see him not in my face? And perhaps I am not he, but nor am I the father that I followed into the deeds you so rightfully abhor. If I am to be marked with the memory of my father’s wrongs, perhaps you can spare a thought also for the memory of friendship and kindred with my grandfather. We have fallen far indeed, but the Noldor were not always this, and you know this as well as I. You are right in saying that I can offer little to you in the wake of my defeat. Even my body is not whole for you. All I am asking is for you to take what little I have.”

Thingol raised an eyebrow, at that. “And along with your more--general offer--you wish to offer your own… friendship, in the same way.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And you are willing to swear to me that you shall hold nothing I ask against me, so long as you get the silmaril for your troubles.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Very well. Swear.”

“Before Manwë and Varda on the holy mountain of Taniquetil that rises high in Valinor I make this vow: whatsoever you shall ask of me, I shall forgive it and think never of it again once I have the Silmaril which I desire. Your conditions for my possession of the Silmaril may be chosen at your pleasure, so long as I might meet them; I swear that I shall do as you will in all things if that is what you deem fit, if this brings me nearer to holding that jewel of my family which you keep from us. Is that sufficient?”

“Yes.” A long pause, as they stared into each other’s eyes. “Guards, leave us. I wish to speak to him alone.”

“As you command.”

Thingol waited until the doors shut again behind them to speak again. “Tell me, am I correct in the manner of thing you mean to offer me?”

“I was not lying about the rest of it. The loyalty of my people is yours as well. But--I have sworn twice now. Everything I am is yours. It is--a symbol, if you will. I would not offer myself only to deny you smaller things.”

“Would you not? And yet even now you are still wearing the symbol of your family.”

“All you needed to do was ask.” The red fabric fell on the floor in a heap. His shoulders were bare, his skin pale and freckled; without the cloak you could see clearly the deformities of his right shoulder, where joints and bones had been broken and never healed quite right, sticking out at odd angles or stretching and falling instead of staying straight. “Your Grace, all you need do is tell me how you want me, and you shall have it.”

“If you wish to be my friend as Finwë was,” Thingol said, “Then you are wearing far too many clothes for that, even without the cloak.”

That earned a smirk from Maedhros; he stripped quickly, efficiently, removing a small vial of oil from a pocket and setting it down. Thingol tried to keep his expression controlled, displaying only the same careful neutrality, but it was difficult, and a hissing breath escaped his lips. Maedhros was exceptionally beautiful--it was not for nothing that he had been named _well-formed_ in his native tongue--but his body was covered with thick, roping scars, patches of dark and light skin of uneven texture, the signs of years in Angband. “As I said, Your Grace. Tell me how you want me.”

“On the rug. Be careful; it is a fine work of craftsmanship and you do not have leave to dirty it.” It was Thingol’s turn to part and shed his robes as he stood and walked over. He was half-hard already and still hardening. “I would see you kneel.”

Maedhros had as much practiced grace at sinking to both knees as he had when he was genuflecting. His mouth opened, waiting, as he watched through half-lidded eyes. Thingol put one hand beneath his chin, tilted his face up so they could watch each other. Even kneeling and naked, wearing an expression of lust that would be more convincing were he not entirely soft, Maedhros seemed proud. Thingol’s other hand traced the scars and pits and broken bones of his skin; if he had a similar expression, it was not an artificial one. “We do not normally allow Angband survivors into Doriath.”

“Or kinslayers. But I will not let you regret it.”

“Won’t you? We shall see, I suppose. Be quiet now.”

At that, Maedhros swallowed up Thingol’s dick to its base, and Thingol was the one struggling to obey his own order as he bit off a cry of startlement and pleasure. Maedhros worked well, licking him to hardness and bobbing up and down, taking carefully measured breaths through his nose whenever his airway wasn’t entirely blocked.

“You’re _good_ at this,” he said in surprise, voice breathy. “How much of your alliance did you get through your so highly-vaunted diplomacy, I wonder, and how much was this? I would not have taken you for a whore, trading your body for what you want, and yet here you are. Today is _full_ of surprises.” He let Maedhros continue for a time, and then fisted a hand in his hair to pull him off. “Stop. I wish to see what else you are good at, kinslaying whore.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Maedhros allowed himself to be pushed until his back was on the rug. He uncorked the bottle of oil, holding it between two fingers of his hand. “Do you wish to prepare me or should I?”

“I would have you open yourself for me.”

Maedhros set it down to dip his fingers in, and then began. The view was obscene: red hair splayed out on the rug, open mouth still dripping with strings of spit, body scarred and callused, as he spread himself on his fingers. He gasped, body shivering and arching, still-soft cock twitching, making a show out of it before ever-so-slowly pulling out. “I am ready, Your Grace.” His hole clenched, still dripping with oil.

“Good.” Thingol moved down, kissed him deeply. The gentleness of it seemed to almost startled Maedhros for a moment, but he was good at this too. It was like this that Thingol lined himself up with the younger man’s opening and pushed in.

Maedhros broke their kiss with a gasp, eyes closing. Thingol found himself moaning as the tightness of it gripped him. He set a comfortably slow rhythm in and out, hands wandering over Maedhros’s naked skin, kissing the scars that marred it. “You make a good bargain, lachend. So beautiful, so skilled. I was worried I would regret this. I suppose I may still, but--” His sentence was interrupted by a moan that shuddered through his whole body.

A slight smile, at that, slightly wry yet so genuine that it made everything before it seem insincere by comparison. His eyes showed a sort of deep unhappiness. “I do my best.”

Thingol closed his eyes. It was one thing to see Maedhros debased, giving fake moans around a blocked airway, and quite another to see Maedhros showing emotions not calculated and put on as so many layers of masks. It was unbearably intimate.

When he opened his eyes, the moment had ended. Maedhros was panting, eyes half-closed, body moving in perfect tandem with Thingol’s. A whine escaped his lips. “Oh-- _oh--_ so _good_ \--”

Maedhros rolled his hips up with a languid grin as Thingol staved off another moan by biting the less-mangled part of Maedhros’s collarbone. His thrusts were becoming faster, more irregular, as he grew slowly closer to his release. He closed his eyes again and traced Maedhros’s jawline (so _much_ like Finwë’s) and let himself be reminded of those days, of the starlight of his youth, the coldness of the air and the warmth of his arms--

\--he came inside Maedhros with a cry, his body shuddering as it pulsed through him.

He pulled out and stood up, leaving Maedhros there on the floor as he pulled on his robes again.

“And the silmaril, Your Grace?”

“I will have it delivered to you before you leave here today, provided you follow through and use your people to serve me and mine. But this certainly has done well as a--let’s call it a token of how seriously you take that promise.”

“I’m a son of Fëanor. You need not fear that I should break my word.” His voice had a tinge of bitterness as he cleaned himself up as best as he could and put his robes back on, but it disappeared and his voice softened as he continued. “Thank you for the silmaril, Your Grace. I am very glad that we were able to come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”

**Author's Note:**

> i want it to be known that it is canon that, prior to this fic, the following conversation was had- 
> 
> maedhros' brothers: so you're gonna have sex with thingol for the silmaril???? this seems a bad idea. touching people gives you flashbacks. youre literally gonna be selling yourself for a silmaril. why are you like this  
> maedhros: would you rather: (a) kill a bunch of innocent people again (b) do it yourself  
> maedhros' brothers: well...... no............  
> maedhros: glad to hear we’re all in agreement then! :)
> 
> anyway. i'm sorry for (gestures). the premise just kind of took over my head and it hadn't already been written so i had no choice but to make it happen myself.


End file.
